LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
©fjajt Sojt^i-iBlt !^a. 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




MR. BRANDER MATTHEWS 



THE DECISION OF THE COURT 



U ComeDi2 



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BRANDER MATTHEWS 



ILLUSTRATED 







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NEW YORK 
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 

1893 



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Harper's ''Black and White" Series. 

Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, 50 cents each. 



The Decision of thb Court. 
A Comedy. By Brander Mat- 
thews. 

George William Curtis. By 
John White Chadwick. 

Slavery and the SlaveTrade 
IN Africa. By Henry M. 
Stanley. 

The Rivals. By Francois 
Copp^e. 

The Japanese Bride. By 
Naomi Tamura. 

Whittieb : Notes of his Life 
and of his Friendships. By 
Annie Fields. 



Giles Corey, Yeoman. 
Marv E. Wilkius. 



By 



Coffee and Repartee. By 

John Kendrick Bangs. 
James Russell Lowell. An 

Address. By George William 

Curtis. 
Seen from the Saddle. By 

Isa Carrington Cabell. 
A Family Canoe Trip. By 

Florence Waiters Snedeker. 
A Little Swiss Sojourn. By 

William Dean Howells. 
A Letter of Introduction. 

A Farce. By William Dean 

Howells. 
In the Vestibule Limited. 

By Brander Matthews. 
The Albany Depot. A Farce. 

By William Dean Howells. 



Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

For sale by all booksellers, or -will be sent by the publishers, 
postage prepaid, on receipt of price. 



t '■-, 



Copyright, 1893, by Harper & Brothers. 



All rii'/its reserved. 



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^ 



NOTE 

l^Tliis comedy was first acted in America by the 
Theatre of Arts and Letters at its fourth sub- 
scription performance in New York^ March 23, 
1893, with Mrs. Agnes Booth- Schoeff el and Mr. 
J. H. Gilmour as Mrs. and Mr. Stanyhurst. A 
performance for copyright purposes was given in 
Londo7i, at the Comedy Theatre, Ifarch 20th. 
Stage-right and copyright are therefore fully pro- 
tected, both in Great Britain and in the United 
States.'] 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



MR. ERANDER MATTHEWS FrontlSpiece 

MRS. AGNES BOOTH-SCHOEPPEL .... Facing page 16 

"her photo!" " "30 

"speak for yourself, kitty" . . " "44 



THE DECISION OF THE COURT 



CAST OF CHARACTERS 

Mrs. Algernon Stanthurst. 
Mr. Algernon Stanthurst. 
The Maid. 
The Messenger- boy. 



Scene:— The parlor of Mrs. Stanyhurst's cottage at New- 
port, R. I. 



TniE :— Late in September. 



The time is late September, and the scene 
is the parlor of a cottage at Newport, the 
broad windows of which overlook the har- 
bor. It is a handsomely furnished room, 
showing that its occupant is a woman of 
taste. On one side there is a conservatory 
bow-window filled with flow^ers, and having 
a hanging bird-cage in the centre. On the 
other side there is a mantel-piece, with a 
mirror over it and a clock upon it. An 
open piano stands against the wall near the 
mantel-piece. There is a sofa near the cen- 
tre of the room, with an umbrella lamp be- 
hind it, 

Mrs. Stanyhurst is seen seated at a desk 
near the sofa engaged in writing. 

Mary, the maid, enters through the draped 
doorway which connects the parlor and the 



12 



ball of tlie house. She stands silently be- 
hind Mrs. Stanyhurst. 

Mrs. S. {looking up): " Well, Mary, what is 
it?" 

Mary: " What time is it you want the tea, 
ma'am?" 

Mrs. S.: "At five o'clock always; you will 
understand your duties in a day or two. And 
serve it promptly, whether I am here or not." 

Mary {going): " Yes, ma'am." 

Mrs. S.: "And tell Martha to have the 
toasted crackers hotter than they were yes. 
terday." 

Mary: "Yes, ma'am." [Exit. 



II 



Mrs, S. : " Where was I? [TaJdng up let- 
ter from desk and reading it aloud.'] ' If you 
will go to Japan and to India, you must not 
expect to have the latest news. Yes, it is 
true that I am suing for a divorce. Alger- 
non and I are absolutely incompatible. If 
baby had lived, perhaps we might have got 
along together somehow — I don't know. As 
it was, we quarrelled every week of our sec- 
ond year, and almost every day of the third ; 
yet when I try to remember what we quar- 
relled about, I simply can't. Algernon was 
disagreeable enough to say that I was the 
most exasperating woman he had ever met! 
So you see what a bad temper he has! And 
he was absurdly jealous ; and at the same 
time he was so indifferent and easy-going 
that he was absolutely impossible ! At last 



14 



we agreed to disagree once for all, and to be 
divorced. So I have been living here in 
Newport for a year now all by myself— it 
appears that residence is necessary — and I 
have sued for divorce on the ground of non- 
support. I suppose you will smile at this, 
since you know my income is quite as large 
as Algernon's. But that's the excuse I must 
give, so my lawyer says. I have an excel- 
lent lawyer, Mr. Eichard Hitchcock, really 
a most agreeable man, who has taken charge 
of my case himself ; and he has been just 
too lovely. I wish Algernon's lawyer had 
been as considerate ; but his name is Bull, 
and he is a brute.' [Spoken.] I remember 
what I was going to say. [Writing.] ' The 
case came up last week, and I testified that 
Algernon hadn't given me any money for 
months, and that he had abandoned me and 
left the country. Algernon's lawyer made 
a cheap joke about my being a grass-widow 
now, and being able to make hay while the 
sun shines. It's just like him to hire such 



15 



a man 1 The jiitlge asked me a few ques- 
tions, and then he took the papers and said 
he would tliinlc about it. Mr. Hitchcock 
tells me that we must win, of course. He 
hopes for a decision soon — maybe this week. 
He is to telegraph me at once. So perhaps 
before this letter gets to Chicago I shall have 
been unmarried.' 

[87ie reads over last few lines to herself 

and then signs and folds the letter. 
[While she is doing this, Mr. Slany hurst 
is seen to pass the icindoios and to stand 
before door, where he rings hell. 
[Mrs. Stanyhurst, intent on folding letter 
and on addressing envelope, does not 
hear the hell. The door is opened., 
and Mr. S. disappears from mew; 
the door closes with a hang. 
Mrs. S. {Starting): "Perhaps that's the 
decision now ! Really, it is a great strain 
on one's nerves not to know whether one is 
married or not." 

[Mary enters with card on salver. 



16 



Mrs. S. {Rising): " Is it a telegram?" 

Mary {lianding card): "No, ma'am; it's a 
gentleman to see you." 

Mrs, S. {reading card; aside): "Algernon! 
[Surprised.'] What does he want with me?" 

Mary: " He didn't say, ma'am." 

Mrs. S. : *' Well, you may show him in." 

Mary {going) : ' ' Yes, ma'am. " 

Mrs. S. : " Stop ! [RusJies over to the mirror 
over the mantel-piece.'] I suppose I must look 
like a fright. [^Ooing.] Show him in here, 
and say Mrs. Stanyhurst will be down in a 
minute." 

[Exit through small door opposite the 
mantel-piece. 







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MRS. AGNES BOOTH-SCHOEFFEL 



Ill 

Mary: "Yes, ma'am. [Going out, and re- 
cqjpeamig at once toitli Mr. S.] Mrs. Stany- 
hurst will be down in a minute, sir." 

Mr. S. {constrained and awkward): "Cer- 
tainly, certainly; there's no hurry at all- 
[Seeing Mary loaiting, The- takes seat on sofa, 
holding hat in one hand and stick in the other. 
Mary exit.'\ Really, you know, this is awk- 
ward. A man doesn't really know what to 
do when he has to call on his own wife, not 
knowing whether she is his wife or not. It 
is deuced awkward; that's what I call it — 
deuced awkward. That American judge 
may have given his decision to-day, you 
know, and when I'm talking to my wife per- 
haps she won't be my wife. And it was quite 
awkward enough before. Still, it had to be 
done. "Wife or no wife, I wouldn't have her 



18 



tliiuk I could do a thing like that, you know. 
[Pause.] She said she'd be down in a min- 
ute; but I know how long her minutes are- 
I suppose she's prinking before the glass. 
Fancy her prinking for me now! [Pause.] 
It's here she's been living since I abandoned 
her, as we agreed when we had our last row. 
That last row! — it was pretty lively that last 
row — but then so were most of the others. I 
doubt if any man and wife ever had more 
rows than we did in four years. And I don't 
see why we quarrelled either — I'm sure I'm 
good-natured enough. [Pause.] Snug little 
crib this. She always had good taste; I will 
say that for her. [Bises, and stands hy desk.] 
There's the inkstand the mater gave her, and 
that's the writing-case the governor had made 
for her. [Crosses to mantel-piece, and adjusts 
Ms cravat in mirror.] Deuced dusty, these 
roads here in America. [Moves up, and sees 
her 'photograph on mantel-piece. ] Her photo !" 



IV 



[As he takes it in his hand, Mrs. S. enters, 
and stands in doorway. 

Mrs. S. (aside): "What is lie up to now? 
Ob, my portrait." 

Mr. S. {holding picture): "I say, she hasn't 
been mourning for me, you know. Slie isn't 
fading away. She's positively improved. 
That's it — she's positively improved." 

Mrs. S. {aside): " He's just as handsome as 
ever; and he looks as though he could be just 
as irritating." 

Mr. S.: "She has filled out a bit, and it 
suits her. [Putting back the photograph on 
mantel - piece, he catches sight of her in mir- 
ror, and is instantly confused.'] Oh, I say, 
she's been watching me. [He goes up), pre- 
tending not to see her. He looks up finally 

and catches her eye. Moment of embarrass- 
3 



20 



ment Hesitating. "[ I have — I — I have 
called—" 

Mrs. S. {sitting on sofa, calmly) : " Take 
a chair, Mr. [looking at card in her hand] — 
Mr. Stanyhurst." 

Mr. S. (aside): "That was one for me. 
Clever old girl. I thought she'd make it 
uncomfortable for me. [Places chair, and 
sits. Aloud.] Thank you. Standing makes 
a fellow feel so awkward." 

Mrs. S. : "You have been abroad, I be- 
lieve, Mr. [glancing again at card] — Mr. 
Stanyhurst." 

Mr. S. : "I got back yesterday morning, 
on the Etruria, and so I — so I — " [Confused. 

Mrs. S. {after a pause) : ' ' And what gives 
me the honor of this visit?" 
■ Mr. S. : "That's what I'm coming to- 
only you — you — Well, last night at the 
club I heard two fellows talking about our 
divorce case, you know — " [Pause. 

Mrs. S. : "Yes, I know." 

Mr. S. : "They didn't know I was in New 



21 



York, and one of them said that Bull— that's 
raj^ lawyer, you know—" 

Mrs. S. : " Yes, I know that too." 

Mr. S.: "He said my lawyer, Bull, had 
made some sort of disparaging remarks about 
you, you know." 

Mrs. S. : " Yes, I know. And what then?" 

Mr. S. : "What then? Well, you know, I 
didn't want you to think that I had anything 
to do with it— so I ran down here at once to 
tell you so." 

Mrs. S. : " Oh, you need not have taken so 
much trouble for a little thing like that." 

Mr. S. : "Of course I wouldn't let my 
lawyer say an insulting word to you." 

Mrs. S.: " Of course not. That's a privi- 
lege you desire to reserve for yourself." 

Mr. S. : "Come, now, I say — that isn't 
fair. That's one below the belt. Bull be- 
haved like a brute, I dare say—" 

Mrs. S.: " Like master, like man." 

Mr. S.: "But I try to behave like a gen- 
tleman, I hope." 



22 



Mrs. S.: "No doubt you do your best." 

Mr. S. : "And I come down here to tell 
you it's all a mistake, and I hadn't anything 
to do with it ; and then you jump on me, as 
you Americans say." 

Mrs. S. : " I'm by way of being irritated, 
as you English say. Your Bull lawyer was 
a brute — such a contrast to Mr. Hitchcock! 
You ought to have heard Mr. Hitchcock 
describe your infamous conduct to me. He 
almost made me cry when he told the judge 
how you had abandoned me, and refused to 
contribute to my support. Just as if I would 
ever ask you for a cent!" 

Mr. S. : " Your lawyer seems to have been 
pitching into me." 

Mrs. S. : " That's different." 

Mr. S.: "Who is this Hitchcock fellow? 
I've met him somewhere, haven't I?" 

Mrs. S. : "Mr. Hitchcock is my counsel. 
He has been kindness itself— and sympathy. 
He has the most exquisite manners, too. Of 
course he simply despises your little lawyer, 



23 



but he treated him always with the most 
disdainful courtesy— except when that Bull 
insulted me, and then he talked back. It 
was so like you to hire a man of that sort. I 
could have smiled if I hadn't been so mad." 

Mr. S. : " But I came here to tell you I—" 

Mrs. S. : " Oh, I exonerate you, of course ; 
I know you wouldn't have permitted it if 
you had been here." 

Mr. S.: "Thanks, I'm sure." 

Mrs. S. : "I was just writing to a friend 
[taking letter out of pocket], and I had told 
her that I didn't believe you were respon- 
sible." 

Mr. S. : " That's really very good of you, 
you know. [Pause.] Oh, I say, if you've 
been writing like that, then I needn't have 
bothered to come down here." 

Mrs. S. : " If Vve been writing? So you 
are still as suspicious as ever. See for your- 
self !" [Holding out the letter. 

Mr. S.: ''Really— I— I— really— " 

Mrs. S.: " See for yourself!" 



24 



Mr. S. : "I don't want to read your letters, 
you know, but if you insist — " 

[Beaching out hand for letter. 

Mrs. S. {suddenly withdrawing letter) : ' ' Per- 
haps you had better not read it, after all." 

Mr. S.: "Just as you like." 

Mrs. S. {looking over the letter): " There are 
other allusions to you, which — which it 
might be awkward for you to see." 

[Pocketing letter. 

Mr. S.: " It's all deuced awkward as it is, 
don't you know." 

Mrs. S.: "It is indeed." 

Mr. S. : " You see, until that judge makes 
up his mind, I don't know whether I'm a 
married man or not." 

Mrs. S. : " Neither do I. I mean, I don't 
know whether I'm a married woman or 
not." 

Mr. S.: "I'm like that fellow's coffin, you 
know — " 

Mrs. S. : " That fellow's coffin? Oh, Mo- 
hammed's." 



25 



Mr. S. {admiringly): "You always knew 
such a lot ! Yes, that's it — I'm like Moham- 
med's coffin — suspended between heaven and 
the other place, you know." 

Mrs. S.: "The other place? Meaning 
me ? Oh, thank you." 

Mr. S. {confused): "Oh, I say!" 

Mrs. S. : "That wasn't delicate, perhaps, 
but it was direct enough." 

Mr. S. : "Come, now, I didn't mean that; 
you know I didn't mean that." 

Mrs. S.: " It's no matter what you meant. 
I can judge of that only by what you say." 

Mr. S. {protesting): " But— I— " 

Mrs. S. : "After all, this suspense is ever 
so much worse for me than for you, for I 
don't even know what my name is." 

Mr. S. : "I don't see that." 

Mrs. S. : " You don't suppose that I shall 
keep your name, do you, when I cease to be 
your wife?" 

Mr. S. : " My name's all right. Nobody's 
ever done anything to disgrace it yet." 



26 



Mrs. S. (indignantly): "You need not in- 
sinuate that I shall do so." 

Mr. S. {protesting): "You do take one up 
so sharp!" 

Mrs. S.: "I am Mrs. Stanyhurst now, I 
suppose, if the judge hasn't come to a de- 
cision yet. But when he does I shall take 
my father's name again. I shall be Mrs. 
Van Kortlandt." 

Mr. S.: "You are not going to do that 
really, are you?" 

Mrs. S.: "Why not? You don't think 
that I'm so proud of having married the 
younger son of a lord that I'm going to hold 
to the name after I've cast off the man?" 

Mr. S. : "Cast off? I say, you mustn't 
talk about me as if I was an old dressing- 
gown." 

Mrs. S. : "It's no matter what kind of ap- 
parel you are. I'm not wrapped up in you 
any longer. If I were only a widow, now!" 

Mr. S.: "Oh, I say!" 

Mrs. S.; "They are making such lovely 



2T 



things in crape this year. But then you 
never had any consideration for me." 

Mr. S. : "You wouldn't have me die just 
to leave you a widow?" 

Mrs. S. : "Why not? When a man really 
loves a woman he is willing to die for her! 
Or at least he tells her so. It must be de- 
lightful for a woman to be a widow; she 
can do as she pleases, and make all the men 
do what she pleases. She is her own hus- 
band—and she has no wife." 

Mr. S. : "If my widow were to remarry, 
I'd come back to worry her." 

Mrs. S. : "Just as you did your wife? 
Precisely. As for me, since I can't be a 
widow, I must be the next best thing — di- 
vorced. " 

Mr. S. : "It is deuced awkward, of 
course." 

Mrs. S. : "It is indeed deuced awkward 
— I mean, very awkward." 

[Pause. Clock on mantel-piece strikes Jive 
slowly. 



28 



Mr. S. {rising): " Five o'clock. I must be 
going. I've got to get back to New York 
to-night." 

[Mary enters with kettle, puts it on stand 
on tea table before window, lights lamp, 
and carries table down and sets it be- 
fore Mrs. S. Mr. S. awkwardly gets 
out of way of table. 
Mrs. S. : "Can't I offer you a cup of 
tea?" 

Mr. S. {astonished) : "Really you are very 
good, but — " 

Mrs. S. {lifting sugar-tongs) : ' ' One lump or 
two?" 
Mr. S.: "One, please." [Exit Mary. 

Mrs. S. : "Do you take cream?" 
Mr. S.: " Come, now, you ought to know 
that — really, you know. " 

Mrs. S. : "No cream, then. But perhaps 
you would like a slice of lemon?" 

Mr. S. : " No, thanks, no. I don't think I 
shall need any lemon." 

[Putting hat and cane on chair between 



29 



piano and fireplace, and sitting on 

piano -stool. 

Mrs. S. {passing cup) : ' ' Five-o'clock tea 

always reminds me of marriage. You need 

two spoons, of course, and sooner or later 

they get into hot water." 

Mr. S. {taking cup and stirring it) : "That's 
very good. That's very good indeed. But 
then I always said you were clever. [Sip- 
ping tea, and getting scalded. ] The water was 
hot !" 

[Mary enters with plate of toasted crack- 
ers. She passes them to Mr. S., who 
takes one. Then she puts plate down 
on tea table, and exit. 
Mr. S. {watching Tier off): "Pretty girl 
that." 
Mrs. S. : "So you noticed it?" 
Mr. S. : "I noticed that you never had any 
pretty girls like that when you and I—" 
[Mrs. S. looks at him. Mr, S. hesi- 
tates, and tJien stops, and drinks tea 
abruptly. 



30 



Mrs. S. : " Don't judge others by your- 
self, rm not jealous." 

Mr. S. {with mouth full) : "This toasted 
biscuit is really delicious." 

Mrs. S. : "The biscuit? Oh, you mean the 
crackers? You English really ought to learn 
our language." 

Mr. S. : "Your language? The English 
language? Well, I like that!" 

Mrs. S. : "You would like it if you could 
only speak it as we do. When I hear our lan- 
guage maltreated by you English, I wish we 
Americans had kept our native Choctaw." 

Mr, S. : "It isn't your native Choctaw, you 
know; you haven't any red-Indian blood in 
you." 

Mrs. S.: "Haven't I? My grandmother 
was a Virginian, and I'm a direct descendant 
of Pocahontas — I'm her great-great-great- 
great-great-granddaughter. " 

Mr. S. : "Dear me!" 

Mrs. S. : " Would you like me to do my 
ancestral scalp-dance for you?" 




"her photo!" 



31 



Mr. S. : "It might be very good fun." 
[^Rising and piUting teacup on mantelpiece 
behind Mm. 

Mrs. S. : "I know that your family goes 
bacli to the time of the Black Prince, but I 
can trace mine back to a red princess." 

Mr. S. {negligently): "Pocahontas was a 
nigger, wasn't she?" 

Mrs. S. : " She was the daughter of King 
Powhatan!" 

Mr. S. {indifferently): "I dare say." 

Mrs. S.: "That's just like you English; 
you are abject before royalty in your own 
country, and yet you turn up your nose at 
our kings." 

Mr. S. {standing stiffly behind sofa): "I 
didn't know you Americans had any kings." 

Mrs. S. : " I've been thinking about these 
international marriages, as the society re- 
porter calls them, and I've come to this con- 
clusion, that if an American man marries an 
English woman, it's all right; but if an 
American woman marries an Englishman, 



32 



it's all wrong. In the first case tliey get on 
splendidly, because the English woman is ac- 
customed to be obedient, and the American 
man is in the habit of being attentive, and so 
both sides are satisfied. But in the second 
case there is slim chance of happiness, be- 
cause the American woman is used to inde- 
pendence and to deference, and the English- 
man is always waited on by all his women — 
mother, sisters, wife, daughters — just as if he 
were a Mormon." 
Mr. S. {protesting): "Oh, I say!" 
Mrs. S. : "There is not only incompati- 
bility of temper; there is incompatibility of 
training. You, now, you — " 
Mr. S.: "What about me, now?" 
Mrs. S. : "You ought to have married 
some Lady Hildegarde Fitzplantagenet, who 
would have been happy to fetch your slippers 
for you and wait on you hand and foot, day 
and night. Instead you married Kitty Van 
Kortlandt — and we have both regretted it 
ever since." 



33 



Mr. S.: *' Speak for yourself, Kitty [she 
looks up] — Mrs. Stanyhurst, I mean," 

Mrs. S. : " It is too late for you to make 
me believe that you don't regret it now. No, 
you were not cut out for a husband, and—" 

Mr. S. {gallantly): "If I thought any fel- 
low had been cutting me out, I'd — " 

Mrs. S. {calmly) : " Well, what would you 
do?" 

Mr. S. {hesitating) : " I don't know. I— I—" 

Mrs. S.: "What could you do? Nothing; 
that's what you could do. You see, I've had 
a good many hours of solitude in the past 
year, and I've spent some of them in analyz- 
ing your character." 

Mr. S. {energetically): "I say, now, do 
you think that was fair?" 

Mrs. S. : "Oh, I wasn't unjust to you; I 
gave you credit for your good qualities. 
You are not clever, for example, but you 
are not a fool either." 

Mr. S. : " Thanks— thanks awfully." 

Mrs. S. : "Your education is lamentable, 



34 



of course, but you know a lot about horses 
and dogs, and shooting and fishing, and sport 
of all kinds." 

Mr. S. : " What else should I know?" 

Mrs. S.: "What else indeed? Well, for 
one thing, you might know something about 
women — about the way a wife feels; you 
might have learned to look at life from her 
point of view, and to — [^Suddenly changing 
wice as Mary enters.'] It has been unusually 
warm for so late in September. Don't you 
think so?" 

Mr. S. {astonished): "I? Don't I think? 
[Seeing Mary, who is taking away tea things.'] 
Oh yes, I think so too. Of course. I agree 
with you." 

[Going up after Mrs. S. Mary exit with 
tray. 

Mrs. S. {at window): "Those dark clouds 
over there seem to threaten a storm soon. 
The equinoctial is due now." 

[Mary enters and takes taUefrom before 
sofa and puts it before window. 



35 



Mr. S.: " Shouklu't wonder if we luid rain 
before night." 

[Looking over sJioulder to see if Mary has 

gone. 
[Mary looks at Mm and then at Mrs. S , 

and then exit. 
[Mrs. S, stands looking at hirds in con- 
servatory how-window. 
Mrs. S. : ''And my birds are excited, too; 
that's another sign," 

Mr. S. {looking at cage with single eye-glass) : 
" What sort of birds?" 
Mrs. S.: "Love-birds." 
Mr. S. : " Funny little beggars." 
Mrs. S. {dryly): "Their open affection for 
each other is rather absurd, isn't it? But 
they can't get out of the cage, you see; and, 
like many other couples, perhaps they are 
merely making the best of it, and pretend to 
affection while people are looking at them." 
Mr. S. {admiringly) : "You always did have 
a way of saying things." 
Mrs. S. : "I've practised that speech before. 

5 



36 



The last man I said it to was Mr, Hitcli- 
cock." 

Mr. S. : "Hitchcock? Oh, he's your law- 
yer fellow? I remember now — you used to 
know him before we were married." 

Mrs. S. : "He's a charming man. It's a 
pleasure to talk to him — he's so quick. He 
said that flirtation was more fun than mar- 
riage, just as a novel was more amusing 
than a history." 

Mr. S. : "I don't see that that's so very 
clever." 

Mrs. S. : "No? Then perhaps you won't 
approve of my retort that I didn't under- 
stand why marriage should be a bar to flirta- 
tion." 

[Mr. S. is about to protest, but is inter- 
rupted. 

Mrs. S. : " The privilege of flirting is 
guaranteed to every American woman by the 
Declaration of Independence ; it is the right 
to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." 

Mr. S.: "You Americans talk a great 



37 

deal about independence, but I remember 
you bad a cbaperon tbe first time I met you 
— at tbe Patriarcbs', wasn't it ?" 

Mrs. S.: "It was at tbe Assembly. Tbat 
just sbows bow mucb you took notice of 
me." 

Mr. S.: "I did take notice of you. I re- 
member wbat I said to tbe fellow wbo took 
me to tbe dance." 

Mrs. S.: " And pray wbat did you say?" 

Mr. S.: "I said, 'Tbat's a devilisb pretty 
girl, tbat Miss Van Kortlandt, and clever 
too!' Tbat's wbatlsaid." 

[Lea?iing back on desk. 

Mrs. S.: "Tbank you. And wbat did be 
say to tbat?" 

Mr. S.: "Wbat did be say? I remember 
tbat too. He said : ' You just look out. Kit- 
ty Van Kortlandt is a terrible flirt!' Tbat's 
wbat be said." 

Mrs. S. : " Tbe idea! As if I ever flirted!" 

Mr. S. : " You didn't flirt witb me, I know 
tbat. You wouldn't even dance witb me." 



38 



Mrs. S.: "You know you dance like a 
bear." 

Mr. S.: "Come, now—" 

Mrs. S. : " You English don't begin to know 
anything about dancing. I can't think what 
they teach you in your schools. Do you re- 
member the first time you tried ' Dancing in 
the Barn ?' \_LaugMng , and crossing to piano, 
and playing the tune while talking omv her 
shoulder to Mr. S., who has followed her across.'] 
It was here in Newport, at the De Ruyters', 
five years ago, when they gave their first 
ball at their new cottage on the Cliffs." 

Mr. S. : " You have such queer dances here, 
you know." 

Mrs. S. {still playing)'. "We never had a 
queerer dancer than you were when I tried 
to show you ' Dancing in the Barn.' You 
looked so absurd." 

Mr. S.: "Did I, though?" 

Mrs. S.: "You did indeed. So at last I 
took pity on you, and I gave up the dance, 
and we went out on the piazza," 



39 



Mr. S. : *" Yes. I liked that better." 

Mrs. S. {still playing) : " So did I." 

Mr, S. : " That was the first time you had 
been polite to me, don't you know. Before 
that you were always oflish. I never knew 
how to take you." 

Mrs, S. : " Perhaps I didn't intend to let 
you take me at all," 

Mr. S.: "I know I didn't think I'd ever let 
any American girl take me." 

Mrs. S. {still playing, hut more slowly, and 
''Dancing in the Barn'" has changed into a 
waltz of Chopin's): " You don't suppose I had 
intended to marry an Englishman, do you? 
I don't know how I ever came to do it. It 
must have been the music and the moon- 
light — I remember there was a heavenly 
moon that evening," 

Mr, S.: "Was there? Idon't.know. But 
I remember you looked devilish pretty." 

Mrs. S.: "Did I?" 

[Turning on piano-stool and facing him. 

Mr. S. : " You did. And I remember I 



40 



said to mj^self: Til risk it, I don't know 
whether she'll have me, but I'll risk it.' And 
I asked you to marry me." 

Mrs. S. : "And do you remember what I 
said?" 

Mr. S. t "You said you wouldn't. But you 
looked so charming and so tantalizing — I 
don't know how it was, but I kissed you." 

Mrs. 8. : " Don't you think that it was very 
ungentlemanly to kiss a lady who had just 
refused to marry you?" 

Mr. S. : "I'm not so sure about that, you 
know. You let me, you know." 

Mrs. S. : " There wasn't anything else for 
me to do. You were a great big hulking 
man, and I was only a girl." 

Mr. S. : "You made me fetch and carry 
for you that winter; I remember that well 
enough. You led me a pretty dance, I can 
tell you." 

Mrs. S. (sadly): "A. girl can be engaged 
only once, and if she does not have a good 
time then, when is she to have it?" 



41 



Mr. S. : "I dare say you had a good time, 
as you call it. I know I didn't. I don't like 
going about to balls and parties night after 
night, and seeing the girl I'm going to marry 
dancing with a parcel of fellows who — " 

Mrs. S. : "But you know you dance so 
badly. I simply couldn't dance with you. I 
shouldn't have had a ball dress to my back." 

Mr. S. : "I was glad when the winter was 
over and we were married." 

Mrs. S. : "At Grace Church, by the Bishop, 
on a beautiful spring morning. {^Facing piano 
again, and playing the ' ' Wedding March " of 
''Lohengrin " gently.] I'm sure it must have 
been a lovely wedding. The church was 
crowded, and all my friends were there in 
their spring bonnets. The music was heav- 
enly — and there are people who say they 
don't like Wagner !" [Pause. 

Mr. S. (icatching her; aside): " She's hand- 
somer than ever. She didn't look better on 
her wedding-day than she does now. I won- 
der if— [Pause.] By Jove, I will!" 



42 



[Goes to extreme end of piano ^ so that he 

faces her. 
[Mrs. S. continues playing softly, con- 
scious that he is gazing at her ; she 
changes time of music, plays louder 
and move brilliantly, and then stops 
abruptly. 
Mrs. S. {icith a return of her former sharp) 
manner)'. "A divorce isn't as romantic as a 
wedding, is it? Nor as picturesque. There 
isn't half enough ceremony about a divorce. 
There's no music, no veil, no flowers, no 
bridemaids, no Bishop. They'll never make 
divorce really popular with the women till 
it is as spectacular as a wedding, with ushers, 
and best men, and pretty girls, and cake — 
cake to take home in a box, so that every 
woman can dream of the man she is some 
day to be divorced from." 

Mr. S. : "Oh, I say, now, that's too bad, 
really." 

Mrs. S. : "And of course there would have 
to be something to correspond with the 



43 



honey -moon aud the weddiug trip. Per- 
haps the happy pair who had just been 
divorced would go on a little journey 
around the world, one east and one west, 
with an understanding that they should 
pass each other in the middle of the Pacific 
Ocean." 

Mr. S.: "When we were married we 
went home, you know." 

Mrs. S.: "It was home for you, of course, 
but it was exile for me." 

Mr. S. {stiffly): "My people were good to 
you, weren't they? The governor thought 
you were no end of fun." 

Mrs. S.: "Yes; I received the welcome of 
a professional humorist." 

Mr. S. : " The mater liked you. You can't 
deny that, can you?" 

Mrs. S.: "I think she did— in her way. 

The first time we met she told me she was 

so glad you had a wife to keep you out of 

mischief." 

Mr. S. {exultingly) : "She never would have 

6 



44 



said that if she hadn't cottoned to you from 
the start, would she?" 

Mrs. S. : " And she said she was glad to 
find I had so little Yankee twang — as if we 
were Yankees in New York! And she has 
an English accent of her own as thick as a 
London fog. You could cut it with a knife 
[imitating], don't you know." 

Mr. S. {stiffly again): " I think all my peo- 
ple were very civil to you." 

Mrs. S. {bitterly) : ' ' Yes, as war is some- 
times civil, and then the wounds rankle 
longest." 

Mr. S. : " The governor was nice to you — 
nicer than he is to me half the time. And 
the mater — " 

Mrs. S. {impatiently): "No doubt the gov- 
ernor and the mater, as you call them, meant 
to be nice, as you say. They were as nice as 
they knew how. [Sitting on sofa.] But, oh, 
how hard it was to be in the same house with 
such simple folks! I'm complicated, I am, 
and intricate; I'm modern and nineteenth 



45 



century. And your father and mother are 
simple beyond belief, simple with a pre- 
historic simplicity — so simple that when I 
saw them go out for a walk together, I was 
always expecting that the robins would come 
and cover them up with leaves." 

Mr. S. : "You are deuced hard on my 
people. Now I never say anything about 
yours." 

Mrs. S. : " How can you? You had an un- 
fair advantage when we married. I'm an 
orphan." 

Mr. S. {doubtfully): " There's your brother, 
you know." 

Mrs. S. {suddenly): "I know what you 
were going to say. Well, it's true, he does 
drink, sometimes — but then he is frequently 
sober." 

Mr. S. : "I wasn't going to say it. I don't 
care if he gets as drunk as a lord. That 
might happen to any fellow, you know. 
After the second bottle, wine goes to my head 
sometimes." 



46 



Mrs, S. : " It's no news that nature abhors 
a vacuum." 

Mr. S. : "I don't see anything funny in 
that." 

Mrs. S. {laughing): "Don't you? Well, 
perhaps it was unfair. Don't mind my be- 
ing sharp with you to-day. There's a storm 
coming, and my nerves are unstrung." 

Mr. S. {leaning over the back of the sofa): 
" Do you remember that storm we had cross- 
ing the Channel when we went over to the 
continent?" 

Mrs. S. {shuddering): " Shall I ever forget 
it? I thought I should never see land again. 
But you — I will say that for you— you were 
not a bit frightened." 

Mr. S. {laughing lightly'): "Frightened? 
There was only a capful of wind." 

Mrs. S. : "It ruffled the feathers in my cap, 
I can tell you; and I was glad to get my foot 
on shore again. I did enjoy my first dinner 
in Paris : you hadn't any idea where Worth's 
was, but you knew all the good restaurants." 



47 



Mr. S. : "They give you filthy things to 
eat in Paris, if you don't know where to go." 

Mrs. S. : "Yes, we had a good time in 
Paris then." 

Mr. S.: " And in Switzerland." 

Mrs. S.: "Yes, we had a good time in 
Switzerland too." 

Mr. S. : "It was very jolly, Paris and Swit- 
zerland, and all that. We were happy then, 
weren't we?" 

Mrs. S.: "I suppose so." 

Mr. S. {suddenly): "That's what I say! 
Well, now, why shouldn't we be happy 
again? You know I always loved you." 

Mrs. S. : "I used to think so." 

Mr. S. : "Think so again, can't you?" 

Mrs. S.: "I don't know." 

Mr. S.: "And you loved me then, when 
we were on our honey -moon and wedding 
trip, and all that, you know. Is all that 
love gone? Don't you love me at all now? 
[Pause.'] You don't hate me, do you? You 
say sharp things to me, but I don't mind 



48 



that, you know, I've got a tough hide of 
my own, and I don't mind it. Besides, I 
know you don't mean anything by it. Kow 
come, let's have a fresh start, and see if we 
can't get off all together this time. It's odds 
we make a better match of it now than we 
did at the first meeting. We got along first 
rate in Paris and Switzerland. I've got to 
go to San Francisco to-morrow. Come with 
me." 

Mrs.S.: '' Oh, I can't." 

Mr. S. : " Come with me, and we'll have a 
second wedding trip and honey-moon and all 
that. It '11 be better than the first time of 
asking. Come." 

Mrs. S.: "1 can't, I can't. Oh, what 
would people say?" 

Mr. S. : " Damn people ! Who cares what 
they say? They say too much always. It's 
all right for husband and wife to go off trav- 
elling together, isn't it? And you are my 
wife, aren't you, Kitty?" 

Mrs.S.: "Am I? Am I now? Perhaps 



3 
I 



49 



the judge has made up his mind by this 
time." 

Mr. S. : " The divorce? I forgot about the 
divorce! We can stop the divorce, can't 
we?" 

Mrs, S. {tlioughtfully) : "I suppose so. 
[Rising and facing 1iim.'\ So you think you 
are in love with me still ? I doubt it. I 
don't believe it. It's all a delusion on your 
part. And I'm a delusion too." 

Mr. S. {coming forward to her) : "I'd like 
to hug that delusion. [Putting Ms arm about 
her.l Say you will withdraw the suit." 

Mrs. S. {escaping from Mm): "I can't, I 
can't — but you may, if you insist." 

Mr. S. {following lier): "It isn't my suit, 
you know. I'm not going to court to com- 
pel you to support me, am I?" 

Mrs. S.: "Of course that was only an ex- 
cuse." 

Mr. S. : "It isn't a good excuse, now. I'm 
ready to support you." 

[With his arm about her again. 



50 



Mrs. S. : "But if you did take me off 
to San Francisco, tlie judge might divorce 
us Tvliile we were on our second lioney- 
moon." 

Mr. S.: "That's what I say, don't you 
know. You must withdraw the suit." 
Mrs. S.: " How can I ?" 

[Messenger -hoy is seen through windows. 
He stands before the door, and rings 
hell. 
Mrs. S. {starting): "What's that? [With 
hand to heart.'] It's a messenger-boy! He 
has a telegram ! Perhaps the judge has 
made up his mind." 
Mr. S.: "Perhaps he has." 
Mrs. S. : "I'm certain it's the decision — 
absolutely certain. And Mr. Hitchcock said 
he would telegraph me at once." 

[Door opens, and messenger -hoy disap- 
pears in house. 
Mrs. S. : "I know now how a person feels 
when he is waiting for the verdict." 
Mr. S. : "It is awkward, isn't it? — deuced 



51 



awkward. But I shall be glad to know 
whether we are man and wife or not." 
[Mary enters, with telegram on a salver. 

Mary: ** A telegram for you, ma'am." 

Mrs. S. {taking it): " I don't dare to know 
my fate." [Mary exit. 

Mr. S. : "Don't hesitate. You might as 
well get it over as soon as you can. Have 
your tooth out at once if it aches. I always 
do." 

Mrs. S. {teai's open envelope, reads telegram, 
and drops her arm): "So that is settled." 

Mr. S. : "Is there a decision?" 

Mrs. S. : "Yes." 

[^Holding out the telegram to him. 

Mr. S. {taking it): "Let's see. Really, I'm 
a bit nervous myself. [Meads.] 'Court 
granted your application this afternoon. You 
are again a free woman. [Stops and looks at 
Mrs. S.] I congratulate you on being sepa- 
rated from the brute who has made you so 
miserable. Will bring down papers to-mor- 
row. Richard Hitchcock.' " 

7 



52 



Mrs. S. {snatching telegram): "1 didn't 
mean you to read it all." 

Mr. S. {indignantly): "He didn't mean 
me to read it either. You can let me go, 
can't you? Now that Hitchcock has done 
what you wanted him to do. I knew he'd 
do anything for you !" 

Mrs. S. {turning suddenly, with change of 
manner): " What do you mean by that?" 

Mr. S. {shrinking back a little) : ' ' He's a 
friend of yours, isn't he?" 

Mrs. S. {insisting, and with rising temper): 
"That isn't what you mean. You know it 
isn't!" 

Mr. S.: "Come, now, don't be so sharp 
on a fellow — don't. I meant what I said, 
didn't I? He's your lawyer, this Hitchcock, 
isn't he? And he's got to do what you tell 
him." 

Mrs. S. : "But that isn't all you meant. 
You forget that I know your ways of old." 

Mr. S. : "I say, now, don't let's dig up old 
bones." 



53 



Mrs. S. : "And you said it in time, fortu- 
nately, I might have been fool enough to 
listen to you again. But I'm not going to 
make myself the victim of your absurd sus- 
picions a second time." 

Mr. S.: "Suspicions?" 

Mrs. S. : "I'm not going to suffer again 
from your ridiculous jealousy." 

Mr. S. : "Jealousy? I say, now, this isn't 
a joke!" 

Mrs. S. {coming up close and looking him in 
the eye): "Do you dare to tell me that you 
did not intend to insinuate that I had been 
flirting with Mr. Hitchcock?" 

Mx. ^. {taken aback): "I? I suggest that? 
Nothing of the sort, I assure you." 

Mrs. S. {turning away from him): "Don't 
be a hypocrite too— don't ! Don't try to sneak 
out of it. To be suspicious and jealous is 
bad enough, but you might at least be frank 
about it." 

Mr. S. : " Oh, I say, this is really too bad, 
you know. I didn't say anything about 



54 



this Hitchcock; I didn't mean to insinuate 
anything; I wasn't even thinking about his 
attentions to you. I wasn't indeed. [Pause.] 
Come to think of it, though, he took your 
case up eagerly, I'm told, and I know he 
pitched into me in court. He pitched in 
pretty strong, too — didn't he?" 

Mrs. S.: "He had to tell the truth about 
you— didn't he?" 

Mr. S.: "I suppose the fellow was glad 
of a chance to get even with me. He knew 
you before you were married, and I doubt he 
has ever forgiven me for cutting him out." 

Mrs. S. : "There 5^ou go again! That's 
the way you always are. You object now 
to the friends of my childhood. I wonder 
what next. I suppose you won't want me 
to see my own brother soon !" 

Mr. S. {laughing harshly): " I don't mind 
your seeing him, but I shouldn't grieve if I 
never laid eyes on him again." 

Mrs. S.: "That's unworthy of you. Oh, 
I know what you are going to say." 



55 



Mr. S. : " I'm not going to say anything." 

Mrs. S.: "You are going to say that my 
brother has called on you at the office and 
at the club, perhaps a little flushed with 
wine." 

Mr. S. : " Flushed with wine? He couldn't 
stand straight. He hung around the neck of 
the club porter." 

Mrs. S. : " I've no doubt it is true—although 
of course you exaggerate; but it isn't nice of 
you to say it." 

Mr. S.: "I didn't say it, did I?" 

Mrs. S. : "I've never accused your father 
or your mother of drinking." 

Mr. S. : " Come, now, I say — " 

Mrs. S. {dropping in chaii\ and wiping eyes 
with handkerchief)'. "Before we had been 
married a month, I saw you didn't under- 
stand me." 

Mr. S. {impatiently walking up and down): 
" I don't understand you now, that's clear." 

Mrs. S. : "I had been writing to a friend 
this very afternoon [taking letter out of 



56 



pocket], and I told her 3'ou had always been 
a brute to me." 

Mr. S. : " Oh, you told her that, did you?" 

Mrs. S. : ''Do you doubt me again? 
[Holding out letter.'] See for yourself." 

Mr. S.: " Thanks, but I don't care to see 
for myself." 

Mrs. S. : "I told her there was not merely 
a personal disagreement between us; there 
was also a total international incompatibili- 
ty. No Englishman could make an Ameri- 
can woman happy; and that I never expected 
to set eyes on you again, and that I didn't 
want to. [Looking omr letter.] I thought 
I wrote her that. But that must have been 
in a letter to somebody else." 

[Putting letter in pocket. 

Mr. S. {sharply)'. " If there are two women 
you've been telling you don't want to see 
me again, there's no use my stopping here 
any longer." 

Mrs. S.: "Certainly not." 

Mr. S. {taking hat and gloves): "I'm going 



5T 



to San Francisco to-morrow. It's odds I 
never see you again, you know." 

Mrs. S.: " True. You will probably never 
see me again. Well, I wish you a pleasant 
journey, Mr. Stanyhurst." 

Mr. S. : "And I wisli you a good-after- 
noon, Mrs, Van Kortlandt." 

Mrs. S. {mechanically re'peating) \ "Mrs. 
Van Kortlandt ?" 

[Mr. S. how8 automatically, but sJie does 

not look at liim as he leaves the room. 
[Mrs. S. stands silent as he is seen passing 
the windows. As he goes out of sight 
she glances up quickly. 



[Mrs. S. suddenly takes the letter from her 
pocket, and goes to the desk. 
Mrs. S. {writing): "'P.S.— The decision 
has just been rendered, and I'm a single wo- 
man again. Congratulate me.' " 

\^8he puts the letter in the envelope, seals 
it, leaves it on the desk as she rises, 
crosses to sofa, turns and looks up 
at window, and thsn drops on sofa, 
burying her face in her handkerchief 
IMary enters, followed by the messenger- 
boy. 
Mary: "Is there any answer to that tele- 
gram, ma'am? The boy is waiting." 

Mrs. S. (automatically) : ' ' The boy is wait- 
ing. [Suddenly spiinging to her feet.] Where 
is the boy?" 
Boy: "I'm here." 



69 



Mrs. S. {seizing boy and rusJiing him to the 
window, which she throws open): "Boy, do 
you see that geutlemaa there? The one 
walking so fast?" 

Boy {out oil piazza): "The one with the 
cane and the dicer? I see him." 

Mrs. S. : "Then run after him quick and 
tell him to come back — " 

Boy: "All right." [Exit. 

Mrs. S. {half out on piazza): "Tell him 
I've changed my mind ! Tell him there 
was something I forgot to say to him. Tell 
him — Oh, he can tell him what he likes, so 
long as he brings him back. \_Pause.'\ The 
boy has caught him. \_Pause.'] He's com- 
ing 1 [Pause. Then suddenly she leaves win- 
dow and goes to sofa, standing behind it, with 
her back to the window.'] And what shall I 
say to him when he comes?" [Pause. 

Boy {at window): " Here he is. I got him 
easy." 

Mr. S. {at window): "Kitty! [Stepping 
inside.'] Did you send for me?" 



60 



Mrs. S. : "No. {^Looking around.'] Oh, 
is that you?" 

Mr. S. : " You sent for me. Did you want 
to ask me something?" 

Mrs. S.: ''Did I? Yes; I wanted to ask 
you how long it will take us to go to San 
Francisco. " 

And so the curtain falls, with Mr. Stany- 
hurst's arm about Mrs. Stanyhurst, and with 
Mary and the messenger-boy looking at them 
wonderingly. 



THE END. 



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lated. $1 00. 

THE HOUSE BY THE MEDLAR-TREE. 

By Giovanni Verga. Translated from the 
Italian by Mary A. Craig. $i 00. 

PASTELS IN PROSE. Translated by Stu- 
art Merrill. 150 Illustrations. $1 25. 

MARIA : A South American Romance. By 
Jorge Isaacs. Translated by Rollo Og- 
DEN. $1 00. 

THE ODD NUMBER. Thirteen Tales by 
Guy de Maupassant. The Translation by 
Jonathan Sturges. $i 00. 



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